


Tim Just Drives Jon Home After Work but It's Soft

by taylor_tut



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Family Fluff, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Influenza, Let Jon Sleep 2K20, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season 1 because I Miss Tim, Sick Character, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A short fic from my tumblr for the prompt "Tim driving Jon home and staying because he's sick and very out of it." A combination of a fever, exhaustion, mild dehydration, and some expired cold medicine knock him on his ass and Tim is there to make sure he's taken care of. <3
Comments: 11
Kudos: 239





	Tim Just Drives Jon Home After Work but It's Soft

“Jon’s asleep at his desk,” Sasha says, “again.” The first time she’d made that announcement at 9:30 in the morning, her tone had been amused, teasing, fond. They’d set a mug of tea at his desk, which he’d tiredly thanked them for, and left it at that. The second time, when she’d gone into his office to ask if he’d like to join them for lunch, it had been coy, and they’d taken bets on whether he’d had a date the night before, answered negatively when Tim had leveled the accusation and he had, in a wrecked voice, replied that he simply had a cold and hadn’t gotten much sleep. Now, for the third time in the same day despite their regular jokes that perhaps Jon is a vampire that doesn’t even NEED sleep, she’s bearing this news, and her tone is anything but jesting. 

“He needs to go home,” Martin frets. “I mean--I’m right, right? He’s obviously not feeling well.” 

“It’s almost 5, anyway, and a Friday. Half the staff have already left.” 

Tim nods, considering these opinions. “Counterpoint,” he reasons. “If I go in there and tell him to go home, he’ll have me for breakfast. And I’m not sure I’m not being literal.” 

“Oh, Tim, so brave and strong,” Sasha feigns a swoon, pulling Martin in for effect, “you’re the only one who can face the beast in his lair! Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi! You’re my only hope!” 

“Avenge me,” he pleads as he does whatever Sasha wants, per usual. 

When knocking on the door elicits no response, Tim sighs, says a quick prayer, and pushes it open. Of course, Sasha is right. Jon is sleeping at his desk, draped over his arms in a way that suggests he’d attempted just to rest his eyes for a moment. 

“Hey, Jon,” Tim calls gently from near the door, worried about startling him. It’s not particularly loud, but it does the trick, as Jon sits up, startled. “Good morning.” 

It’s meant as a joke, and Jon is not a gullible person, not by any means. In fact, he’s perhaps the most skeptical person Tim has ever met. Jon could get abducted by aliens and he’d have the assistants pull apart his statement bit by bit for accuracy, then tell the tape recorder it was probably some sort of stress-induced hallucination. 

“Morning?” Jon echoes, horror clear in his eyes. It’s on the cusp of funny and scary, the disorientation, groggy enough to be the product of a rude awakening but intense like he’s lucid. 

“Er, not quite,” Tim placates. “It was a joke. Because you were sleeping.” Jon blinks slowly, and it reminds Tim of a cat trying to show its trust. “It’s almost closing time, Boss. I was wondering if I could give you a ride home.” 

Deliberately, Jon shakes his head. “Thanks,” he says, “but no. I’ll drive myself.” 

At that, Tim crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. “You took the tube today,” he points out. He’d known that because Jon had come into the office wet from the rain this morning, and it’s worrying that Jon doesn’t remember.

“Oh,” he acknowledges, turning his gaze to Tim. “Did you want something?” 

Tim frowns and takes a few steps forward. “Yes,” he reminds him patiently, “to drive you home. Jesus. What’s going on with you?” 

Jon shakes his head, shivers. “Just not… Not quite feeling like myself.”

Tim nods, because that much is obvious. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” 

He rushes back to Martin and Sasha, and his face must give away his worry, as Martin is immediately on his feet. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Jon’s… I don’t even know. He seems really out of it. I don’t know if I should take him home or to A&E.”

Sasha pales. “It’s that bad?” 

“Come see for yourself.” 

The three of them find Jon sitting just as Tim left him, now shuffling papers in his hands with no real intent or focus. Martin is the first to approach him, gently taking the paperwork from him and kneeling to his level. 

“Jon,” he calls softly, and Jon drags his gaze up to meet his eyes.

“Hi,” Jon greets quietly. Martin smiles a little. 

“Hi. Tim says you’re not feeling well?” 

Jon shrugs, blinks for a long time. “S’fine.”

“Right,” Sasha interjects. “What, specifically, are you feeling? Because you seem… kind of loopy. It’s unnerving.” 

When Jon’s eyes lock onto hers, it’s piercing, possibly because he’s focused on so little since Tim’s started talking to him, but his expression is neutral.

“I took some cold medicine,” he explains, and Tim’s heart rate immediately halves because okay, yeah, that tracks, and it’s a lot less scary than his worst case scenario. “Might have been the nighttime kind.” A pause. “Also, might’ve been too much.” Another, slightly longer pause. “Also, might’ve been expired.” 

Tim has to press his lips together to keep from smiling, but the mood drops again when Martin reaches across Jon’s desk to place a hand on his forehead and winces. 

“Well, be that as it may, you’re still burning up,” he announces. “It’s probably the flu; been going around lately. Have you had any fluids today?”

Jon thinks for a long moment, then mumbles, “tea,” and Martin looks disappointed but not surprised. 

“You mean the cup of tea we brought you this morning?” Jon nods. “And nothing else?” Silence. 

“I’m going to drive him home. I’ll make sure he drinks something,” Tim reassures. 

“If you can’t get him to drink, or if he can’t keep it down, call me,” Martin says. “I’d offer to go with you, but my mum has a doctor’s appointment in an hour, and I’ve got to drive her—”

“Don’t worry, Martin,” Sasha curtails his worry-spiral. “You take care of your mum. We’ve got Jon.” 

Jon is scowling, at least lucid enough to be displeased, but one look at Martin’s concerned face and he understands that arguing will only make him worry, so he sighs which results in a coughing fit that makes Tim’s own chest ache. 

“Okay, hot stuff, let’s get you home,” Tim teases, helping Jon to his feet. With his arm around Jon’s back, he can feel just how intense that heat is, not to mention that Jon barely even reacts to the pun aside from a grimace. 

The trek to Tim’s car is slow but uneventful, and when he sits Jon down in the front seat, he feels a stab of pity seeing how he’s shivering in the chilly, drizzly air. He turns on the heat and aims the vents toward Jon, who is quiet as they drive. 

Really, Tim should have thought this out better, because Jon falls asleep within a few minutes of driving, and it’s before Tim has the opportunity to ask his address.

So, he weighs his options. He could wake Jon and ask directions, of course. But, then what? He drops Jon off, still disoriented and dehydrated with only some expired medicine to make him feel better, all weekend?

He makes a choice, and that decision has him shaking Jon lightly awake in the lot of his own apartment complex. 

“Jon, wake up,” he says gently. “We’re here.” Jon blinks into awareness slowly, and it takes a long moment before he rubs his eyes with a frown. 

“This isn’t my flat.” 

“Very good, boss. Nothing sneaks past you, does it?” Jon rolls his eyes. Tim smiles. “It’s my place. I have cold medicine, soup, and sports drinks, all of which I’m willing to bet you don’t keep on hand.” He gives Jon a chance to deny it, but predictably, he can’t. 

“I’ll… be fine,” he says instead. “You don’t have to. I can’t… You shouldn’t have to.” 

A crease in his forehead, one that’s shaping up to be associated with Jon and Jon alone, deepens not for the first time today. 

“I clocked out of the things I ‘had’ to do for you at 5:00,” he says. “This isn’t because you’re my brainiac boss. I’ll stop using the nickname, if it’ll upset you. This is because you’re my half-witted friend. And because if I don’t send Martin a Snap of you safely snuggled on my couch with a Powerade, I don’t think he’ll sleep tonight.” 

Tim wants to believe that it’s personal growth rather than expired Lemsip that has Jon surrendering, but he’s afraid that if he examines it too closely, he’ll find out for sure, and he’s not quite ready for that just yet. Instead, he just throws his arm around Jon once more and guides him into his flat to sit on the couch and sets to work heating up a can of soup and some tea. 


End file.
